Chapter 9 Annie #2
Now, as I watch Elio speak to beautiful woman after beautiful woman, all of them clearly hoping to be the future Mrs. Cattaneo, I almost wish Desmond were here, even if we’d have to be careful about giving anything away yet.
Just so Elio would have to feel a little of what I’m feeling right now, watching him be mobbed by prospective brides.
"She's lovely, isn't she?"
I turn to see Mrs. Facelli, the wife of a judge who is here tonight as a guest, standing beside me and watching Elio and Gia interact with a matronly smile on her face. "I'm sorry?"
“Gia.” She motions with her champagne glass. “The gossip is that she’s the front-runner to be Elio’s wife. He’s taken her out to dinner once, the grapevine says. That already puts her leaps and bounds in front of any other young lady.”
My smile feels like it might crack my face. "I’m sure Ronan wants Elio to meet lots of suitable women. It's important for a man in his position to find the right partner."
"Of course. Though from what I can see, he seems quite taken with her already." She smiles that grandmotherly smile again. “It’s so lovely to see young people at the beginning of falling for one another.”
Against my better judgment, I glance toward where Elio and Gia are standing, off to the side of the ballroom.
She's laughing at something he said, her hand resting lightly on his arm, and he's smiling down at her. I can’t tell if it’s a genuine smile or not—whatever else Elio might have learned in Chicago, he learned to play along.
He could be miserable right now, and I’m not sure I’d know. But he doesn’t look miserable.
The jealousy that floods my system is so intense it nearly brings me to my knees.
This is ridiculous. I have no claim on Elio Cattaneo. No right to feel possessive or jealous or anything at all, really. He's Ronan's protégé now, nothing more. A man I knew as a teenager who's now back in Boston to take over one of the most powerful crime families in New England.
A man who's going to marry someone else and have babies with her, and build a life that has absolutely nothing to do with me.
"Excuse me," I murmur to Mrs. Facelli. "I should go see how my brother is doing.”
Instead, I go toward a guest bathroom that’s just off the hall from the ballroom, needing a moment to myself. It’s fortunately unoccupied, and I lock the door behind me, leaning against it while I try to collect myself.
This has to stop. Whatever this is between Elio and me, whatever these feelings are that I've been carrying around since I was sixteen, it has to stop.
He's going to marry someone suitable, someone who won’t make Ronan question his motives and everything that came before.
He's going to build a life with a woman who can give him everything he needs to succeed in his position.
And I'm going to figure out how to be happy with Desmond, or someone like him. Someone safe and appropriate and completely, utterly wrong for me.
I splash cool water on my wrists and check my appearance in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes too bright, but otherwise I look composed. Ready to return to the party and pretend that I don’t care how many beautiful women Elio dances with.
Dinner is announced just as I emerge. Leila has me seated next to her, which puts me almost directly across from Elio.
I’m also next to Judge Facelli and a councilman who I don’t remember his name—two men who are utterly charmed by my conversation and completely unaware that I have no idea what I'm saying to them.
Because all of my attention is focused on the man across the table.
I watch him make polite conversation with Gia, who's seated beside him, looking every inch the perfect potential wife.
I watch him smile, let her pour wine for him, nod as she speaks, his attention half on her and half on Ronan.
I watch him play the part of the eligible bachelor perfectly, while inside, I slowly die.
And then, for a brief moment, he looks directly at me.
The heat in his gaze is unmistakable, hungry and desperate, and completely inappropriate for a public dinner party. It's the way he used to look at me when we were teenagers stealing moments alone, the way he looked at me that last night before he left for Chicago, when we almost—
I drop my gaze to my plate, my cheeks burning.
Get it together, Annie.
But I can feel his gaze drifting to me for the rest of the meal, longing to look up and meet his eyes again and knowing I can’t—shouldn’t.
I laugh politely at Judge Facelli’s stories and nod along with the councilman’s discussion about zoning, and try to brush off questions about my own romantic prospects, and all through it, I want to look up at Elio so badly that it feels like an inexorable pull.
By the time dessert is served, I'm wound so tight I feel like I might shatter.
As soon as that final course is finished, I’m on pins and needles, waiting for the guests to begin standing so I can split off without looking obviously agitated.
I move through the crowd of guests filtering out, heading down one of the hallways leading away from the dining room.
My destination is single-minded—a favorite spot of mine in the mansion, a large arched window that looks out onto a gorgeous view of the estate during the day, and right now looks out to moonlit darkness.
The hall is dark and quiet, and I breathe in the scent of wood polish and clean air, one hand pressed against the wall as I stare out into the night.
“Annie.” A voice to my left—a voice I’d recognize in any darkness, any place, any time, makes me jump nearly out of my skin. A hand flies up to cover my mouth as a squeak of startlement emerges, and I press my other hand against my chest as I turn and see Elio standing there.
He looks so handsome, limned in moonlight, his strong, chiseled features set in an expression that I can’t quite read. I want to go to him, and I force myself not to, to keep the space between us that I know is paramount.
“Elio.” I breathe his name, my heart still pounding. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” His voice is tight, almost strangled. A rush of memory prickles over my skin—I remember that sound, all the ways I could be responsible for it. His shoulders are tense, as if he’s trying as hard as I am to stay where he is, to not close the distance between us.
He drags in a ragged breath, and I swallow hard, forcing myself to calm down. To be the voice of reason here, in this dark hallway, where we could do so many things and no one would ever know.
“What are you doing here, Elio?” My voice sounds so much calmer than I thought it could. Do you need something?”
“I—” He pauses, as if he’s trying to think of some excuse. Some reason why he followed me here. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
How could I be? I press my lips together, dropping my hand away from the wall as I turn to face him. “I’m fine. I just needed a little quiet for a minute. Needed to clear my head before going back into the party.”
“I thought as much.” He takes a step closer to me, and I know I should retreat. Should keep him from closing any amount of distance between us. But I feel rooted to the spot, unable to move. “I remember that you don’t like crowds. Or parties. Or small talk with people you don’t know.”
My throat tightens. I don’t need to know that. I don’t want to know that Elio remembers those things about me. That he still cares that much. That he thinks about me at all.
“That was when we were kids.” My voice quivers, and I swallow, trying to keep my control. To not let him shatter me to pieces the way I know he can.
“Has anything changed?” He meets my eyes, and I know he’s not just talking about my patience for crowds and small talk. He’s talking about this. About us.
About something that can’t ever exist again.
I press my lips together, hard. “We shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“I know.” A flash of deep, aching sadness fills his eyes, and my chest cramps at the sight of it. I want to go to him, and I can’t. I shouldn’t. “But we can’t go forever without talking about it, can we? Now that I’m back, and you’re—”
“What am I?” I can feel myself tense, a blessed anger starting to replace the hurt, the want. Good. Anger is better. Anger will keep me safe. “What, Elio? What do you want to say?”
He takes another step toward me. I can smell his cologne now, the waft of it filling my senses, warming me from the inside out. Don’t. Stop. I can’t speak, can’t move, even though I know I should do both.
“I thought you’d be married by now. I thought you’d belong to someone else.”
I scoff at that. I can’t help myself. The sound is bitter even to my ears, the thought of my belonging to anyone grating against my nerves.
Anyone other than him.
“And that would have made it easier? To come home?”
“I thought it would.” Elio swallows, his expression pained. “If there was no going back. But you’re not married. You’re not even with someone. Or at least, I didn’t think you were. But seeing you with Desmond the other night—"
“That was none of your business.” I glare at him, feeling the anger build. “I’m none of your business, Elio.”
"I saw him kiss you. I saw you let him." His voice is rough. "And it nearly killed me."
"Elio, we can't—"
“Can’t what?” His hands curl into fists at his sides, and I can feel the tension building, feel this turning into an argument that’s been waiting to explode for eleven years. “Can’t admit that nothing has changed? That what there was between us eleven years ago is still here?”
“You left.” I can hear the pain in my voice as it slices through the air between us. “You had a choice, and you left, Elio. You made your decision.”
“That wasn’t a choice!” His voice rises, and I give him a warning look, my heart racing as I wonder if anyone heard us. His tone lowers. “There was no choice for me, Annie. You know that. I didn’t want to leave.”
“But you did. And there’s no choice now, either, is there? It doesn't matter what's between us. You know it doesn't. Ronan would never—" I shake my head abruptly, suddenly wanting this conversation to be over. “I got over you, Elio. Don’t do this to me.”
He takes another step closer. So close now that I can feel the heat radiating off of his body, feel how tense he is. I could reach out and touch him, and it’s so fucking hard not to. Not to give in to everything I’ve wanted all my life.
“Did you?” His voice is soft, almost a whisper, “Did you really, Annie?”
I look at him, my heart aching. Of course not, I want to say. How could you ever think I would?
“Annie.” He breathes my name like a prayer, lifting his hand to touch my cheek. His fingers hover over my cheekbone, and I can see how much he wants me. How close he is to kissing me. I hear my own indrawn breath, and I know he’s going to do it. That in another second—
“Elio?”
Gia’s voice comes down the hallway, echoed by the clicking of her heels.
Elio drops his hand abruptly, backing away, and hurt slices through me.
As much as I know we can’t get caught like this, how quickly he backed down when another woman called his name feels like my heart is being wrenched out of my chest.
I step back quickly. Elio looks at me, that same intensity still burning in his eyes. “This isn’t over,” he murmurs, and I feel that pain again—a pain I barely survived the first time, and can’t imagine living through again.
“Yes, it is,” I whisper. “It has to be, Elio.”
And then I turn and walk away, leaving him there in the darkness.